


pick your poison

by thedisasternerd



Series: bitch batch shenanigans [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: CC-1010 | Fox is So Done, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, brothers being brothers, concussions are serious please report them, fox is tired and it's thorn's turn to be babysat, make that a tag ao3, thorn is just stupid, what did you expect from them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:06:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26544169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisasternerd/pseuds/thedisasternerd
Summary: “Suit yourself.” Thorn lunges for the bucket standing on his desk and narrowly avoids dropping it. “More for me.”“I never said I didn’t.” Fox snaps.He leans back and crosses his arms, glaring at Thorn. The commander blinks slowly, then grins, sauntering around his desk and perching on the edge. However, his ass is dangerously close to Fox's neat stack of flimsiwork and everything could still end in violence."Foxy wants chicken nuggets?" Thorn coos. His eyes are manic and now that Fox is close enough to inspect his brother, he's pretty sure Thorn's pupils are different sizes.
Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox & Clone Commander Thorn
Series: bitch batch shenanigans [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908805
Comments: 17
Kudos: 118





	pick your poison

**Author's Note:**

> my love for Thorn exceeds boundaries despite him only being in one episode, but I pretty much made him a himbo. I'm so sorry.  
> it's apparently digging out old works and polishing them off season, so have this thing I started months ago and forgot about lmao. Hope you enjoy!

Commander Thorn (or CC-3535) of the Coruscant Guard, despite anything and everything High Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi says, is annoying.

He's competent, Fox will give him that. He's competent, he gets the bad guys faster than most, his paperwork is mostly impeccable - but he's just _annoying_. He smiles with the dazzling happiness of a Nautolan, which pretty much makes him the Senate’s favourite pet and the Guard’s spokesperson when Fox hasn’t had enough alcohol or caf to deal with the world. 

To the Senate, he’s a cute puppy among feral dogs. To Fox, he’s irritatingly peppy and his hair is not blond enough and too long. Seriously, who willingly dyes their hair blond and then doesn’t cover the roots?

Retrospectively, Fox has always known that his vod’ika is essentially a tooka on spice stuck in a human body. But sometimes he gets the sudden urge to just - lovingly break Thorn's neck.

Now is one of those times.

“Thorn.” He tries for a weary, cajoling tone; this is all going to backfire spectacularly, he knows it already. _I need another bottle of wine_ , he thinks as Thorn looks up and grins at him through a mouthful of fries. “Please get out of my office.”

“It’s mine too!” Thorn says through his food. Fox pointedly eyes the single piece of potato that flies onto his desk, but doesn’t move to wipe it off. Meanwhile, Thorn swallows and licks his lips, then starts rooting around in his cardboard box of greasy take-away. Knowing Thorn, he’ll probably start taking the whole thing apart just to find _one_ crumby fry. “It says so on the thing! The name thing.”

He flaps one hand vaguely and fishes a fry out with the other one, stabbing with it at the plaque they have on the door: _Commanders:_ then under that _Fox_ and under Fox's name (clearly showing that the man is his _subordinate_ ) - _Thorn_. 

"It's called a plaque, Thorn." Fox tells him, trying to ingrain as much condescension as he can into his voice. 

"The plaque, then." Thorn makes a quiet _aha_ noise and shoves a shrivelled fry into his mouth, gesturing vaguely at the plaque again.

Thorn had drawn patterns in red and white paint on the black plastoid about a week ago, when they had had nothing to do; the Senate was having a bank holiday (during a _galactic_ _war!_ ) and the Guard was supposed to be doing paperwork - which they had actually managed to finish the day before, because Stone and Thire had helped rather than jumping off buildings for the fun of it. Fox had been mostly drinking himself under the table again, although Thorn had taken away half of his bottles the other day and dropped them out of the window with that stupid, sunny smile of his. 

Because of the alcohol, or maybe the lack of it, Fox had been about two seconds from slamming his head through the desk the entire time, but Thorn, ever cheerful and always with his slightly irritating five o’clock shadow, had decided to _paint,_ of all things. He’s stripped down to his blacks, pinned up his hair, which is starting to grow out into floppy curls, and then put on the radio. It had taken him a solid ten minutes of Fox screaming silently to figure out which channel he wanted, while Fox was edging ever closer to giving in to the temptation of snapping Thorn's unprotected spine. 

He'd finally settled on Coruscant Radio, which is half news, half music, and then proceeded to work with his tongue sticking out, humming quietly under his breath.

Fox will never ever admit to it, but he likes it, the decorated plaque: Fox's name has sharp, angular patterns and a little Loth-fox leaping over it. Thorn had gone for his classic "wings" around his own name, as well as a few stripes and swirls. The two patterns are contrasting but somehow complimentary, which is a parallel that does something weird to Fox's chest.

“I still outrank you.” He grumbles, but it comes out more fond than he would ever admit to.

Thorn gives him a beatific smile and shoves another burnt fry into his mouth. All fondness vanishes; Fox wrinkles his nose and fishes a tissue out of the drawer to wipe away the bit of potato on his desk, then throws it at Thorn, who catches it, winks, and flicks it into the waste chute, which beeps menacingly and as it hisses open and then clunks shut.

“Want a chicken nugget?” Thorn asks, still smiling.

Fox stares at him.

“Suit yourself.” Thorn lunges for the bucket standing on his desk and narrowly avoids dropping it. “More for me.”

“I never said I didn’t.” Fox snaps.

He leans back and crosses his arms, glaring at Thorn. The commander blinks slowly, then grins, sauntering around his desk and perching on the edge. However, his ass is _dangerously_ close to Fox's neat stack of flimsiwork and everything could still end in violence.

"Foxy wants chicken nuggets?" Thorn coos. His eyes are manic and now that Fox is close enough to inspect his brother, he's pretty sure Thorn's pupils are different sizes. 

He'll probably pass out in about five minutes, so Fox decides to take pity on the man and give him some time to eat his gods-forsaken chicken nuggets. If they're going to Hypo's Territory they might as well have some fun before.

"Maybe I actually do, yeah." Fox leans back even further in his chair and glares, defensive. “Did that not cross your mind, di’kut?”

Thorn's grin widens further. Fox resists the urge to compare his brother to Wolffe. Or Cody. Because Thorn is many things, but psychopathic is (surprisingly) not one of them. 

“Here,” Thorn says, shoving the bucket way too far into Fox’s personal space and shaking it, “take one.”

Fox dubiously eyes the collection of shrivelled brown things sitting innocuously in the foam. He has to admit, they smell good, much better than the rations he’s used to. But this isn’t about the _taste_ , this is about spiting Thorn and keeping up appearances.

Thorn shakes the bucket again. Fox would kick him, but Thorn strategically chose to sit opposite Fox on the desk rather than next to him, so unfortunately there’s a board between Fox’s boot and Thorn’s legs.

Still glaring at his brother, Fox uncrosses his arms and tentatively reaches into the bucket. He plucks a warm nugget out of it and shoves it in his mouth as quickly as possible while trying to pretend that he’s taking his time -

And promptly spits it out.

“How do you eat this?” Fox scrabbles around for anything to drink and finds a bottle with at least some drink left in it. He swills it around in his mouth, grimacing, and swallows. “What is that, plastic?”

The look of horror and utter betrayal on Thorn’s face is worth it all, though.

“Palpatine’s shrivelled ass,” Fox winces at that choice of swear but lets it slide for now - Thorn looks like he’s about to cry, “you’re a psychopath. You’re just as bad as Cody.”

Fox blinks but doesn’t contest that. 

“Where is the light in your eyes?” Thorn continues and _little gods_ he sounds like one of those dramatic morons that (most of) the Senators like to watch on stage while they plot treason and/or make-out. “Has all kindness and goodness truly fled from your soul, dear brother?”

Fox sighs and roots around for a tissue to wipe the “chicken nugget” off the floor. Before he can bend down, however, Thorn catches his wrist and gazes sadly into his face. The man’s eyes have expanded and shine wetly in the office’s lights, but that only serves to point out even more to Fox that his pupils are different sizes.

“Where,” Thorn pauses, his grip strong around Fox’s wrist, despite the coldness of his fingers. Really, this should probably faze him more, but Fox knows Ponds, Wolffe and Cody, and that says it all, “wherefore art thou, brother? Where hast thou gone-”

Fox sighs again and drops the tissue in his lap, letting Thorn continue his speech as he roots for his commlink. It takes a few minutes of drowning out Thorn’s speech and cursing, but he eventually gets it out of the fiddly pocket of his blacks. 

He operates it as best as he can with one-hand until it beeps and flashes green.

“What now.” Snaps Hypo’s voice, ever filled with exasperation. “Thorn?”

Fox holds the commlink up to Thorn’s face.

“Dost thou not like,” Thorn doesn’t say anything for two seconds and Fox hears Hypo’s sigh of dismay, “the nugget?”

“I’ll be there.” The light goes red and Fox shoves the commlink back into his pocket.

Rather than saying anything, Thorn just looks at him with wide, melting brown eyes. Fox tries his best not to think of a Bly-Ponds hybrid.

“Idiot.” He tells Thorn’s heartbroken expression, sighs, and lets his brother continue to cut off the circulation in his left hand.

**Author's Note:**

> title from a song of the same name by Black Pistol Fire
> 
> come chat, ask me stuff, vibe and/or yell at or with me [here!](https://thedisasternerd.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading :)


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